


A Change of Scene

by AbeTheDadtm



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: 1920s AU, F/M, Film Noir AU, Gen, I am, Multi, RIP, also who's excited for the gilded lily?, because I can't stop seeing Mary Kate Wiles as Annabel Lee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-07 21:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12240717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbeTheDadtm/pseuds/AbeTheDadtm
Summary: I watched "A Change of Scene" and immediately wanted a Poe Party film noir au.





	1. Let's Spend An Evil Night Together

**Author's Note:**

> The titles are all from songs I drew inspiration from. This chapter is named after the song "Evil Night Together" by Jill Tracy.

The night seemed to coat the tops of the skyscrapers and drip into the streets. Edgar and HG turned down an alleyway that looked like trouble, hands on their guns, hats pulled low and collars turned high. They walked down to a short and stout building tucked behind a row of tenement apartments where raucous laughter and sultry music could be heard. The two stood by the door, one on each side. Edgar knocked. HG looked over his shoulder, his gun already in his hand. The man was cautious, but that caution had saved Edgar's ass, a fact HG would never let him forget.

The door cracked open and a pair of familiar eyes peered through. Oscar, the owner of the place, smiled and let them in. "Well, if it isn't my favorite gumshoes. Thought you'd be coming in tonight." He laughed, touching them both on the shoulders with his famous wandering hands. "Looking for a scoop, or are ya here for the music?"

HG froze under Oscar's touch, but Edgar just rolled his eyes. Oscar was handsy, to say the least, but he liked them, and he ran a decent speakeasy. Well, as decent as a speakeasy _could_ be. The bar was crowded with and reeked of stale booze and some other scents he didn't want to identify. At the back was a stage lit with a spotlight that illuminated a huge poster bearing the name of the place. The Green Carnation. The poster supposedly hid a door only Oscar could open, but Edgar didn't want to know what he'd have to do for Oscar in order to confirm that, much less see what was behind it.

"Actually, I'm looking for my sister," Edgar said, weaselling out of Oscar's grasp.

"Oh, yes, I saw her come in," Oscar said with a grin. He and Lenore went way back -- again, Edgar didn't want to know what he'd have to do to learn the details about their relationship. "She's at the bar right now. We had a chat about you-know-who."

Annabel Lee. The prettiest girl in the city. The apple of the Big Apple's eye. "She singing tonight?"

"I thought you knew," Oscar said, his tone suddenly quiet and careful. Edgar and Annabel were an item once upon a time. But that time was long since past. The only time they ever saw each other was when she sang at the Green Carnation. She used to sing songs about true love and stare at him as he watched her from the bar. Now all of her songs were about broken hearts and bad news, and she stared at the wall whenever she performed.

He still missed her.

Edgar shook it off and said, "What's done is done, Oscar. Take me to Lenore."

Oscar nodded. "Your wish is my command," he said with a slight roll of his eyes. He led them through the crowd like Moses walking through the sea, then pointed to a brown-haired dame sitting at the bar.

It had been three years. Three years since Edgar's life had fallen apart. Three years since Annabel told him he found someone better, someone sane, someone _normal_ , and left without a second glance. Three years since Lenore said she was tired of the running and fighting and searching, that she wanted a steady life with some steady people. Three years since he was left with nothing but a shredded sanity, a business bearing keeping the lights on, and a handful of friends he was never sure he could trust.

Except for HG. He always had HG.

Edgar tapped Lenore's shoulder, and she turned to see him. She was a looker, Edgar had to admit, though she wasn't his type. She had curls that fell like a waterfall around big brown eyes that could break hearts with a blink and a smile that could wrench the secrets from the tightest of lips. But now her youthful smile was gone; her eyes no longer glimmered with hope. She drained a gaudy cocktail from its glass and grinned weakly at him. "It's been a long time, Edgar."

Edgar sat down in the seat next to her, and HG sat on her other side. They nodded a quick greeting, while she ordered another drink. "Want anything? I'll cover it."

"Brandy, please," Edgar replied.

"Just water for me," HG said. Edgar used to make fun of his sobriety, but, once again, it was something that had saved the two of them. Edgar owed HG a lot. He hated owing people anything.

Lenore made the orders and waited for the bartender to make their drinks. He handed them three glasses. Edgar took a long sip and said, "So what brings you back to the seedy side of town, Lenore?"

Lenore drained her glass once again. From the slight sloppiness of her movements, Edgar could tell she'd had more to drink than she should have. "Guy is dead."

Edgar and HG shared a glance. Guy de Vere was her beau. They were due to be married last week. Guess the plans were altered. "I'm sorry, Lenore. What happened?"

Lenore set down her glass and pulled out her purse. She took out a pack of fortune telling cards, a handful of crumpled bills, and a stack of photographs before handing him a slip of paper. He had seen this parchment what felt like a million times before, back when he was a proper copper and not just a random gumshoe. The red ink confirmed his fears, but he read the writing anyways.

"Do not stand in the way of a brother crossed,  
Forget the plight of his brother lost.  
May the blood of this feud drown  
The witch hiding in a wedding gown.  
She once stepped a bit too near,  
Now everyone around her has something to fear.  
Beware death's shadow around the four  
Who started this demented war."

"It's the Bloody Poet," Edgar handed the slip to HG, who scoured the text with a magnifying glass. "He's targeting us now?"

"Guess so," Lenore said.

"And you want us on the case?" Edgar's eyebrows rose. "When we dropped this thing, we were on the hit lists of every cop, private eye, and gangster in town. We're lucky we didn't end up in the river somewhere, riddled with holes. Besides, I thought you didn't like the crime-solving lifestyle."

"I will do this with or without you, Edgar," Lenore said, gathering the money and cards into her bag.

HG handed the note back to her. "I agree with Lenore," he said. "If we're the targets of the Poet now, we better start looking for this guy. We were _so_ close to finding out who he was. We just need to pick up from where we left off."

"It's been three years." Edgar finished his drink. "This guy could have killed off every one of our witnesses. He might go after us. After --"

Oscar stood at the stage. He smiled and cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between, let me introduce you to tonight's entertainment. The lovely, the adorable, the magnificent _Annabel Lee_!"

Oscar stepped aside and Annabel Lee stepped onstage. She looked radiant in a long, glittering gown, and her face was framed in glimmering jewellery. She certainly never wore anything that nice when the two of them were together. Her hair had the same soft curl, though, and her face was still round and bright and perfect. She crooned a slow song about love. Her gaze glided over the crowd, but it settled on him when she began the finale. Her voice was still fantastic; everyone went silent, and the sound filled the room like wine in a glass.

When she finished, everyone clapped and cheered. She smiled and laughed, but her eyes remained on him until she returned to her dressing room.

Once Edgar returned to reality, Lenore touched him on the arm. "I know you still have feelings for her. But if we catch this guy, she'll be safe for good."

Edgar shook his head and waved at the bartender for another drink. "I don't know. I don't know."

When he looked up, he caught HG's puppy-dog gaze. The two had met when HG hobbled into his office with a broken leg, a slip of paper, and one hell of a story. He was the one who started his passion for the Bloody Poet. And during that chase, he had saved the lives of Edgar, Lenore, even Annabel. And when Edgar told him he couldn't go on, not without Lenore, not without Annabel, he let him give up. He moved on. Stayed by his side. Kept working, even when the pay turned to pennies and the lights barely stayed on, even when he had to turn to peddling his stories to pulp fiction magazines to keep the place afloat. He still had nightmares about the Poet crushing his leg, slicing him to shreds, and leaving him for dead in a burning building. He still was jumpy around smoke, he still got paranoid at odd noises in the night. He wanted to see this son-of-a-bitch dead. And Edgar owed him that at the very least.

"Fine. I'll do it."

Lenore and HG both grinned. "Thank you," Lenore said, before suddenly leaping to hug Edgar. She was definitely drunk. But Edgar smiled and hugged her back. He really had missed her.

Oscar Wilde walked over to them and tapped Lenore on the shoulder. "Annabel wants to see you, Lenore," he said.

Lenore shared a concerned look with Edgar. He nodded and said, "Go ahead. Say hello."

Lenore smiled. "I'll tell her you still miss her. If that makes you feel better."

"It's fine," Edgar said, though it would have helped. She nodded, got off the barstool, and followed Oscar through the crowd, disappearing down the hall.


	2. You Know What Flows There Like Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from Rasputina's "Transylvanian Concubines", though in this case, it's not blood, just friendly conversation and tarot cards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I actually did get the cards Lenore pulls for Annabel from a reading I did when I was sussing out this fic. So yeah. It's legit.

The dressing room was tiny, lit only by the lights surrounding the huge vanity that must've taken up half the space in the tiny room. Annabel Lee sat in front of the mirror, scrubbing the makeup off her face, and as soon as the door slammed she looked up and lit up her face with a smile that Lenore had gravely missed. She jumped up from her seat and wrapped Lenore up in a hug. "Lordy, Lenore. It's been three years!" she giggled. She sat back down and returned to the task of the getting her makeup removed. "Last I heard, you were engaged to some big egg up in the skyscrapers. What brings you back down here?"

Lenore sighed. "Guy's dead."

Annabel stopped, setting aside her rag and grabbing Lenore's hand. "I'm sorry. What happened?"

Lenore handed her the poem. Annabel didn't even read it; just one glance at the ink and handwriting said it all. "Oh no. Not him, too?"

"Read it," Lenore said.

"Oh no, I couldn't," Annabel said, shoving the paper in her hands. "I could never handle that stuff. That was all you and Edgar and HG."

"It mentions us," Lenore said, returning the slip to her purse. "Making threats. Whoever did it killed him because of me."

"I'm so sorry." Annabel held the rag in her hands, already stained with rouge and lipstick, but just stared into its folds. "Are you going to look into it?"

"Of course. He was my fiance. I have to." Lenore folded her arms and leaned against the door.

"And is Edgar..."

"Of course he is." Lenore half-smiled, remembering the old times, the happy times, the times when it was the four of them against the world, when the chase for this guy was thrilling, not dangerous, not maddening. "I need him. And I need you, too. You're the core of our damn world."

Annabel sighed. "I moved on from that life, Len. I got a guy now. He's a banker and he's rich and he's sane and he's _normal_ \--"

"And yet you're still singing here every week." Lenore leaned closer to Annabel. "Come on, Anna Banana. You can take the girl out of the thrill, but you can't take the thrill out of the girl." Annabel didn't say anything, just looked glumly into her reflection. Lenore felt her smile fading. "I realized that when I found Guy's body. I don't know if something's wrong with me or something, but as soon as I saw the poem...I don't know. Something lit up inside of me again. Something that hasn't been there for a long, long time. I remembered that this is what I should be doing. Solving crimes, helping people. Working with you guys again." Annabel still said nothing, still didn't look up. Lenore shrugged and said, "I don't know. Maybe I'm crazy. Do you have another seat in here?"

Annabel nodded, stood, and grabbed a chair that was hidden under a stack of boas. When she moved the pile, the loose feather floated and fell to the floor. Annabel dragged the chair to the vanity, sat, and patted the other cushion. "Sit, sit, sit."

Lenore smiled and plopped down in the seat.

"So, do you still read cards?" Annabel leaned against the vanity, tapping her fingernails against the surface. 

Lenore pulled out her deck of tarot cards. They had sat unused for three years while she was with Guy. She didn't really need them, but she could never bear to get rid of them. She pulled the cards out of the creaky old box and began shuffling them. The cards were stiff and stuck together, but they still had their familiar feeling to them. "What kind of spread are you thinking of?"

"You pick," Annabel Lee replied.

Lenore nodded. "Past, present, future sound good?"

"Oooh," Annabel cooed. "Sounds like fun." She watched as Lenore turned over three cards, and examined them.

"So for past, you got Queen of Wands." A woman on a throne posed on the card, bearing a staff in one hand in one hand and a sunflower in the other. At her feet was a black cat. "You were a very bold young lady in your day. A source of joy and compassion for those around you." Lenore looked up at Annabel. "Sounds like the girl we all know and love."

Annabel blushed. "What's the present one mean?"

Nine of Cups. A man sat below nine golden cups, arms crossed in smug satisfaction. "Right now you're at a stable place in your life. Doing well."

Annabel nodded.

"So who is this new man you got?" Lenore asked, her eyebrow raised.

"His name is Eddie," Annabel said. "He's a banker. Really funny. Dances a lot."

"Sounds about right." Lenore turned her attention to the final card. The Page of Wands. "This is interesting. The Page of Wands represents freedom and adventure. You might be getting into trouble, whether you like it or not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary notes:  
> Egg: rich guy


	3. Devil's Flesh and Bones, Catch 'Em If You Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title is from "Devil's Flesh and Bones" by Eliza Rickman.
> 
> Also, someone gets murdered. Not grisly, but if death isn't your thing, you should really skip this one.

At some point in the night, HG started ordering water for Edgar instead of brandy. At some point in the night, Edgar felt tired and annoyed and his words and thoughts all blurred into each other. At some point in the night, he started rambling about Annabel again.

"I know, I know," HG smiled weakly and patted him on the shoulder a bit awkwardly. "You miss her. You told me."

"Jesus Christ, man, move _on_ ," said a voice from behind Edgar. "You've told that sob story a thousand goddamn times. She's moved on, so should you."

" _Ernest_ ," HG growled, and his glare was like a loaded gun. "Don't."

Edgar weakly looked up. Ernest Hemingway was rolling his eyes as he drained a glass of whiskey. "I'm just trying to help, HG. The guy needs to find some new lady love in his life. Speaking of, who was the Sheba sitting next to you guys?"

"That's my sister," Edgar said, "and if you touch her I'm gonna hit you."

"Oh please. You couldn't take me on sober." Ernest rolled his eyes. "She single?"

"Yes, she is," HG said sharply. "Because her fiance was just murdered. Have a heart, Ernest, really."

Ernest might've said something -- Edgar really wanted him to, just for an excuse to punch the guy in his damn face -- but HG had a hand on his gun and if there was one thing Ernest knew, it was to stay out of a gunfight with HG. The last time HG traded bullets with someone, their brains were splattered on the wall like a mural.

Someone sat down next to HG. She was wearing an absolutely hideous dress, all sparkles and pleats applied to a bright pink fabric without any prior planning. Edgar would've recognized her anywhere.

"Louisa May!" Edgar said. He extended his hand, and nearly knocked his drink into HG's lap. "It's been a while."

Louisa May smiled and shook his hand. "Well golly, it has been a long time, Edgar. How's Lenore?"

Edgar met most of his people -- he hesitated to call them "friends" -- through Lenore. Louisa May was a client of Lenore's back when she did tarot card readings. The poor girl was a silly one, and Lenore always snickered that her deck would get snappy whenever she read for her since she hardly took any of its advice. "Not the best. Her man bit the big one."

"Oh no," Louisa said. She ordered a Mary Pickford and returned to the conversation. "She come back to town yet?"

"Yeah, she's here," Edgar said, resting his head on the countertop.

HG added, "I'm sure she'll be reading again soon if you plan to resume seeing her."

"Aw, thanks, HG." Louisa May patted HG on the shoulder. "You really are the sweetest. Surprised no one's swept you up yet."

HG shrugged and blushed, but said nothing. He was always awkward around women, even ones with wonky eyes and no fashion sense.

The bartender handed her the drink. She smiled and took a sip, then started coughing. "Excuse me. So, what are you up to nowadays?"

"Just a few cases here and there. Nothing much, really..." HG nudged Edgar, and he lifted his head. He pointed to Louisa May's glass as she drained it.

In the bottom of it was a slip of paper with smudged red ink.

"Oh, dear!" Louisa May remarked. She pulled the paper out of the glass delicately. It was partially dyed red from the drink and nearly fell to pieces in her fingers.

"You are closer than you think,  
So now with death will you drink.  
Your dying thoughts will be of me,  
But the truth is for none to see."

"What is this?" Louisa May coughed again, rubbing her head with her palms.

"What is the note talking about, Louisa?" HG said, gripping her arm.

"Oh God," she said. Her breath was tight, quickening, wheezy. "At the magazine office -- I didn't mean to see--"

She toppled from the barstool to the floor. Her lips were blue, and she was panting.

Then she was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More glossary!  
> Sheba: a very attractive woman


	4. I'm Just a Shot Away from You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Franz Ferdinand's "Take Me Out"

Lenore and Annabel rushed out of the dressing room when they heard the screams and rush of a crowd quickly leaving. What they saw was a stampede of half-drunk people, a few boozehounds too drunk to move, and Edgar and HG standing over a dead body wearing the most atrocious frock Lenore had ever seen. She instantly knew who it was -- Louisa May had always had the worst fashion sense. 

Annabel rushed to Louisa May's side, and Lenore quickly followed. The girl's skin was nearly as red as her hair, save for her lips, which were blue. Lenore scanned the room and saw the wet, slightly red paper with the runny red ink. Despite the smudged handwriting, Lenore recognized the handwriting immediately.

"What happened," she said to HG, who seemed far soberer than Edgar at this time.

"Cyanide," HG said solemnly. "Took her down like a shot. Put in her drink, no doubt. The note was in there, too."

"Is it the Poet?" Annabel asked.

"I don't know. The note is right, but it's personal, which is odd for him. He used to be random, or at least seemingly random. The note said something about a truth none would see and she mentioned something about a magazine office." HG looked over the scraps of the note again, squinting his eyes to better read it.

"Louisa May worked for a lady's magazine. Wrote gardening tips and terrible recipes." Lenore frowned as she recalled a particularly disgusting dish that tasted more like dirt than a dessert, as she insisted on calling it. "Maybe she saw something there." Lenore looked up at Oscar, who was frantically ordering around various burly men, one of whom gripped a handsome young man who looked like a fish on the line, just pulled out of the water. "Looks like Oscar's handling the bartender."

"I'll talk to him," HG said as he scurried after Oscar. He disappeared behind a door Oscar opened with a key around his neck.

"In the thick of it again, are we?" Edgar slurred. He sat up, looked at Annabel, blinked, and said, "Oh. Hey, Annabel."

"Edgar. It's been a while." Annabel nodded. She slid into the bar stool next to him.

Edgar nodded weakly, plopping his head back onto the counter. "This is going to hurt tomorrow."

Lenore sighed. "Somehow this doesn't surprise me."


	5. You Shot Above Me, I'll Bloom Another Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Amanda Jenssen's "Boom"

HG followed Oscar into the back, along with a gaggle of tall, broad, terrifying men. Well, they would've been terrifying, if you didn't know them.

The tallest, the one with the barman in his grip, was Fyodor Dostoyevsky, an immigrant from Russian. He was a political prisoner, a forced soldier, and now was about as harmless as a child. But the bartender didn't know that. Ernest, one of the other scary ones, was drunk. He was always drunk. He wore an old jacket that reeked of alcohol, and he carried a dented flask. He had tabs as long as his arm in every bar in town. The only reason Oscar hadn't bumped him off was that he was damn handy. He was fantastic at scaring people, finding information, and getting into places he wasn't supposed to get into. Edgar had yet to see his usefulness; they had been in competition since they met. The others were old allies of Oscar's, some former lovers, and some good friends, and some a combination of both. They were all softies, once you sat down with them for a drink and a meal and a chat. One had a daughter not yet two. One had a wife, newly married and pregnant. One had been thrown out of his home because he had a male lover.

Edgar should really learn how to make friends. It would make things so much easier.

The room was empty. There was only one light, an old gas lantern that flickered every so often. HG stood in the shadows as Fyodor plopped the barman into a chair beneath the lamp. Oscar sauntered up to him, with a serious look on his face. "Alfred. I am so disappointed in you. You were the best of all of my men, you know. Now, why would you betray me? Why would you poison a loyal customer?" His foppish voice sounded both odd and terrifying when he spoke in threats.

"I won't tell you. You'd have to kill me to get it out of me. Then you'd be next."

"You working with the Poet?" Ernest asked.

The bartender said nothing.

Oscar roughly grabbed his chin. "You were asked a question, Alfred darling. You best answer before I sic my dogs. You know how loyal they are."

"Do it."

Oscar sighed, clucking his tongue. "You were always so stubborn. Shame. You were a great bartender and an even better lover." He stepped aside, and the burly thugs all closed in on him.

HG had seen plenty of Oscar's interrogations. Normally, at this point, the suspect would cry out in fear, give up the goat. But not this one.

Ernest punched him hard in the cheek, though it looked like he was aiming for the guy's nose. He pulled back, but the guy said nothing. Ernest hit again, again, again. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

The other thugs each threw a punch. One clawed the eye in the face, another cracked a rib, the third aimed a kick to the guy's groin. The man reeled in pain but remained silent.

They all stood aside, parting for HG. Oscar raised an eyebrow. "What would you like to tell him, HG?"

HG stepped forward. When the man saw his face, he gasped in shock.

"You were supposed to be dead," the man wheezed.

HG nodded, pulled out a revolver, cocked it. "Say hello to the Poet when you meet him in hell."

The bang made his ears ring. For a moment, he couldn't hear a thing. He just watched as blood welled on the man's chest, as he slumped forward, as he tumbled to the floor. HG noticed a slip of paper in his sleeve. He removed it, and the red ink confirmed what he had already thought.

"Hello, dear Oscar.  
Miss me yet?"


End file.
